


Nightmares

by vampirecaligula



Series: historical mircea drabbles [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirecaligula/pseuds/vampirecaligula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moldova is far, far too old to be crawling into his brother’s bed at night, but nightmares don’t seem to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://nyctobsequy.tumblr.com/post/71570902206/nightmares)
> 
>  
> 
> kind of historical ??? but not really ????  
> completely unproofread sorry

 

**sometime during the 1960s**

Russia’s house creaked horribly during the winter.

Moldova’s feet felt near frozen as he hurried down the hallway, his fingers brushing the wall in order to keep from stumbling.  He couldn’t move nearly as quickly as he would’ve liked to – that would risk waking someone, and the cracks and squeals the floor elicited were too loud even with the lightest touch.  Sometimes a cold wind would rush through the house and his breath would catch in his throat; old stories about the ghosts and the ghouls and the demons that reigned the world at this hour would take the forefront of his mind.  There was a point (while passing Belarus’s chamber, naturally) where he considered curling into a ball and crouching beneath the nearest table. 

Belarus’s door was slightly open and through it, he could see a knife on the table, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

He swallowed his heart and moved as slowly as his fear would let him.

The first few minutes before his eyes adjusted to the dark were the worst ones, probably.  Curtains became ghosts and tables became goblins, paintings became eyes in a sea of black that watched his every move, only waiting for him to look away so they might drag him into their worlds.  He wouldn’t have minded a painted world, he sometimes thought, but at three in the morning (or was it two? every clock in the house seemed wrong) he infinitely preferred his own.

He passed a window once and took the time to look out; there was no moon, and he could just barely see tall, twisted shapes with claws and teeth encroaching on the house like an army.  _A forest_ , he knew, but there was a horrendous scratching on the roof just above and he had to swallow a scream.

Romania’s room was never this far away.

The door was as plain as all the others, though the lock scratched as if every occupant it’d ever held had tried desperately to escape.  The knob rattled when Moldova touched it; was it truly that loose?  And like every other door, it stuck when he tried to turn it – he meant to knock, but his hand pounded of its own accord.

“No one’s home,” Moldova heard Romania slur from inside.

“ _Mircea!_ ” Moldova whispered.  There was something behind him, he could feel it – he almost wanted to turn around, but that would have been doom. 

 _What you can’t see can’t hurt you_.

There was a tense period of quiet that lasted at least a century.

The doorknob turned beneath Moldova’s hand; he jumped and pulled away faster than he’d thought possible.

Romania looked out with one eye partially blocked my his hair.  The eye widened.  “Ciprian?”

Moldova’s voice was small.  “Can I come in?”

Romania stepped aside without a word.

They would have been reprimanded for using more electricity than necessary, so when light flared it was from a candle that had been sold for far more than it was worth.  It barely lit up Romania’s face, let alone the far corners of the room, but it felt like the first light Moldova had seen in ages.

Romania blinked and shoved his hair out of his face, taking a seat on his bed.  Moldova sat beside him, the frame creaking beneath his weight.  “Something wrong?”

The candle elicited only a little light and less warmth.  But in Romania’s hands, inches away from Moldova’s face, it kept every monster and creature miles away.  His trek through the house seemed stupid and silly now.  Afraid of the dark?  At _his_ age?  Lithuania wouldn’t have been very proud.  Romania must have been even less so.  He avoided his brother’s gaze and said nothing.

Romania put the candle on a small sidetable.  Then he draped one of his blankets around Moldova’s shoulders; it was still warm, and Moldova pulled it close. 

“Nightmare?”

A small nod.

Romania sighed; he was disappointed.  Of course he was.  Growing up in their rickety house in Bucharest had been far scarier than any night in Russia, and Moldova was twice the size he’d been then.

“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of the dark,” Romania said.

Moldova glanced up in surprise.

But?

Romania went on.  “The dark is full of terrifying things,” he said.  “ _Strigoii_ and _v_ _ârcolaci_.  Ghosts.  _Zmei_.  Demons.”  He glanced around the room before leaning in close and saying in a hushed voice, “the KGB.”

Moldova nearly choked laughing. 

Romania smiled slyly.  “It’s true,” he said.  Moldova nodded in agreement before Romania continued, “the dark hides all of those things.  But what would happen if you took all of them out?  If they were all gone, and there was nothing but darkness?  Would there be any danger then?”

“I guess not.”

“It isn’t the darkness you have to be afraid of,” Romania told him.  “See, that is the first mistake most people make.  It is a common one, nothing to be ashamed of.  But it’s the things that live inside it that you need to fear, and those things you can protect yourself from.”

“How do you protect yourself from the KGB?”

“Alright then, _most_ things you can protect yourself from.”

Moldova leaned against the wall, the smooth plaster cold on his cheek.  He felt far better now than he had, and far less sheepish – there were no monsters in Russia’s house, he had been living here for decades and never seen a single one.  The little candle flickered, but now its dancing shadows were not ghosts and skeletons and creatures of the dark – they were stories and animals and characters and songs, and they were oddly fascinating to watch. 

There was a long silence before Moldova spoke again.

“Mircea?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have nightmares?”

The change of expression on Romania’s face was barely noticeable – just a little harder, a little less present.  It was an expression Moldova only saw when Romania thought he wasn’t looking. 

And then it was gone.

“Everyone has nightmares sometimes,” Romania said lightly.  “Some of them are worse than others.  They’re nothing to worry about, they aren’t real.”

It was hard to imagine Romania having nightmares – he was always so fearless and strong, and always knew what to do, even when he didn’t know what to do.  Moldova couldn’t picture him running to his someone’s room at night like he did (partly because he had no idea what Romania’s mother looked like, and privately, he didn’t think Romania remembered either).  “What do you do when you have them?” 

Romania took the candle from the sidetable and blew it out.

Just as quickly, it lit back up, only this time there was no crack of a match.  Moldova looked carefully – there was no evidence of any lighting tool anywhere.

“I keep thousands of these around the house,” Romania said.  “You’ve seen them.”

Most people found paperclips and cigarettes lying around their houses.  Moldova could remember opening drawers and boxes and trunks and cupboards and finding nothing but candles, and more candles, and more candles than anyone could ever need.  He nodded.

“But matches are a hassle.  Before we had those, we had flint and steel, and those were an even bigger hassle.  Lots of times we didn’t have either, so I learned to light them by myself.  You see,” Romania said excitedly, softly, “candles are made to be lit.  They _want_ to be lit.  All _you_ have to do is think about giving them what they want, and they will burn for you as long as you like.”

Romania blew it out.  In the dark, he pressed wax cylinder (surprisingly cold) into Moldova’s hand.  “You try it.”

Moldova felt around for the ashen wick.  When he found it, he pressed his fingers around it and thought as hard as he possibly could about lighting it up – he thought about it harder than he thought about math, and harder than he thought about reading, and harder than he thought about breathing.  It was easily the hardest he’d ever thought about something. 

Several minutes later, the candle still hadn’t lit up.

He was beginning to grow more frustrated than tired.

Romania took the candle back and lit it again.  Moldova spoke immediately:  “I can’t do it.”

“It’s alright,” Romania assured him.  His expression was sympathetic.  “Nobody can do it on their first try.  Lots of people can’t do it at all.  It’s like sewing, I can’t sew to save my life.”

“You could sew if you _tried_ to sew,” Moldova insisted.

“I couldn’t.”

“You so could.”

“The point _is_ ,” Romania said, thumping his shoulder, “that it takes practice.  You might not do it tonight, or next week, or even next month.  But you might do it next year.

“Are you ready to go back to bed?”

Moldova hadn’t been scared for a good while now, and he was beginning to feel the effects of being up at three in the morning.  He nodded.

“Do you want me to walk you back, or are you okay?”

“I can make it.”

“Good.”  Romania gave him a hug – he smelled like fire and mothballs and, more faintly, alcohol – and smiled as Moldova went to the door. 

“ _Noapte bun_ _ă_ , _frate_ ,” Moldova said.  The doorknob didn’t rattle this time.

“ _Noapte bun_ _ă,_ Moldova.  _Somn u_ _șor_.”

The hall was just as dark as it had been before, but this time, Moldova was prepared.

 

**Author's Note:**

>   **historical notes**
> 
>  _1\.  Strigoii, vârcolaci, zmei_  
>  creatures from romanian folklore.  a strigoi is a kind of vampire, a vârcolac a kind of werewolf, and a zmeu is either a demon, a ghoul, or a dragon depending on your translation.
> 
>  _ _2\.  The KGB__  
>  probably everyone knows about the [russian secret police](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KGB) at this point
> 
>  
> 
> _3.[Romania’s mother](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dacia)_
> 
>  
> 
>  _4\.  Noapte bună, frate / Somn ușor_  
>  Good night, brother / sleep well


End file.
